


Space Politics/Diplomatic Mission

by Atta651



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atta651/pseuds/Atta651
Summary: This work is part ofVLD Tropes Fest| Comments and Kudos are appreciated | Anonymous creators will be revealed after the masterlist is posted!





	Space Politics/Diplomatic Mission

This was NOT was Allura had been expecting. At all.

It WAS an easy mission. Or at least, supposed to be.

Except she had failed to count the  _ people _ factor.

Honestly, as the time approached, there had been warning signs. The first one being the giant platform, perfectly designed for containing five giant robotic lions, all over a marsh environment. It could only have been built  _ after  _ their visit had been confirmed. Cephalonians were slow as hell. By Allura’s recollection it wouldn’t add up.

Yet, here it was, waiting for them to land.

Maybe Allura should have found out before that. Maybe by pondering over valid reasons why such an important tactical target had been devoid of heavier Galra presence. As far as Pidge had dug up, there was only a huge delivery hub floating around the fourth moon on the fourth planet of the Elseya system. Set up  _ before  _ the Galra occupation of the sector. You know, aside for the huge delivery hub they had floating around the fourth moon of one of the planets. Being granted use of it as well, the Galra hadn’t bothered to intervene in the day to day life of the Cephalonians as they had done with the Balmerans or the Taujeerians.

Nope. The Cephalonias on Allura’s memories were perfectly placid creatures. A bit dull. Prone to big dinners and boring conversations. The protocol when dealing with them was rooted in Allura like the pattern of her own markings. She couldn’t count the amount of time she had been in the inmense planetas part of her parent’s entourage. It had also been her first mission, once she was deemed a Diplomat for Altea in her own right.

Allura could do this. She was the only one who could do this.

Cephalonians were peaceful. They were friendly. They were slow. They were PREDICTABLE.

Except when they weren’t.

And suddenly, ten thousand years felt like a LONG time.

Allura closed her eyes. Has to open them immediately.

There’s only half a tick of hesitation as she tries to take all in and come up with a plan of action. It is too long and goes as well as expected. Far too much will force is already diverted to schooling her expression into something placid.

Even if the Cephalonians hadn’t suddenly become fast enough to read her changing expressions, the Paladins accompanying her certainly would.

Focus on what you  _ do _ know.

To Allura’s relief, the Cephalonias had opted for the traditional approach on their welcoming. Eight of them, two of each gender, only recognizable from each other if you knew where to look. Each a compact, three legged and long limbed creature with what could be described as dopey faces framed by protein formations all over their faces, heads and shoulders. A long time ago, Allura had been able to READ those patterns, discover with a glance the special meaning behind them. Now her best choice was for them to gather the correct meaning from hers. She had spent nearly a whole varga on repositioning the protein formations on her face and shoulders to make sure the right message came across.

For all she could know, it had been for naught.

The apparel of the delegation was also recognizable. Long, colourful clumps of natural fibres that left their bottoms free. For breathing. Literally. 

That would have to be enough.

Allura furiously ignored the discrepancies in colour, the pointier and tint dipped ends of their protein formations, and the clumps of threading styled around some of the heads. Signs that would have been unthinkable before. Signs that this was nothing more than a costume donned for a special occasion.

There was no time to dwell on it. The Cephalonians waited for her, as well as the Paladins.

Allura took a step forward.

__

Performance or not, Allura knew her role and executed it to perfection. The Cephalonians seemed oddly pleased by her crude approximation of their form. Every word and gesture was on point, or at least close enough. It helped a lot that both parties had wistfully glossed over any fumbling occurring whenever the versions of the script diverged.

Ten hours after their landing, the Paladins and Allura were formally invited to the Cephalonians table. Quite literally, the Cephalonias were notorious for never doing any serious discussion without food of some sort around.

It was a start.

Allura had merely gotten them an opportunity to present their case. It was up to the Voltron team to capitalize on it and get the Cephalonias to join the Coalition. If all else failed, free passage over their System was a good enough consolation prize.

A prize that Allura was more and more worried they might not get.

Everything kept adding up quickly.

Three vessels were brought to take them and their welcoming party to the closest city, were they would be met by… another delegation. A MORE important one. Both, the trip and the convocation were deemed as requiring vast amounts of time. Useful it was indeed. Time was a commodity for the Voltron team in the bigger scheme of the saving of the Universe.

It meant  _ mingling.  _ Something that Allura needed. It was the opportunity to gather information about the BIG changes that might lead Voltron to lose their negotiation. She need to find out what to expect. How to act.

Ten thousand years earlier, Allura would have thrived under this circumstances as Cephalonians were all about gentleness. However, it was dread what she felt when the official cordon was taken away More and more  _ modern  _ Cephalonians came to join them, and all the more glaring she found the contrast between them and the ones she had prepared for.

It was everywhere.

It was in the sky, filled with flying vessels in various sizes, none taking more than four passengers. Some of them doing complicated pirouettes or weird detours to get closer to the five giant lions now stations at the heart of their country. Something that Allura never thought she would see in the Cephalonian sky.

It was at their feet. They boat they travelled with was a sleek design that took almost all the width of the channel they were following. It moved with automated paddlers, leaving all the space available at the deck.

It was in the horizon. Jutting formations of an oily black sort of mixture or rock. Nothing like the gentle waviness of the terraformed cones they used to build before.

The only grounding, safe sight was at the back, the Lions that kept retreating. Allura forced herself to look away. It might give the idea that she was losing the safety they represented. True as it might be, Allura’s father had thought her that a good Diplomat will show as much respect and welcoming for the culture of their hosts.

And then, there was the people that paraded all over the deck. The natural fibres used by the delegation were in the clear minority, as most of the Cephalonians seemed to prefer something more structured around their torsos and with dangles in between and around their legs. It seemed to be their formal attire. Colour bordered on obnoxious, with even weirder combinations for the dyes used on their now sharpened spikes. Nothing like the rounded and well-groomed trend in Allura’s time.

Plus, the  _ hair _ .

_ None  _ of the heads on this crowd was bald. Ten thousand years after, Cephalonians hadn’t developed hair follicles but that didn’t stop then to accommodate threads, strings or even plants in the most extravagant way they could get away with. Some even seemed to have gone through the process of implant those materials into their heads. The end result was… funny. Hilarious evene.

Allura was having a LOT of problems taking them seriously.

Which, she needed to do. Take them seriously, as they kept bringing bad news in casual conversation. To Allura at least, they were bad news.

The monarchy system has gone forever two generations ago, replaced by a sort of council formed by a random representative for each of the nine provinces that formed the Cephalonian territory.

_ Great _ .

Far more people that Allura needed to convince with what was turning out to be a very limited use of their language.

During the welcoming, Allura had had the suspicion, but now she was completely sure that she could understand the Cephalonians more due to her link with the Blue Lion than thought the Cephalonian she had mastered long ago.

VERY long ago.

At least she was able to finally introduce the idea of the Voltron coalition to them. Hopefully to the right people.

Someone approached Allura with a fizzy drink that she decided to refuse. In the past, some of the Cephalonian food didn’t seem to agree with Altean physiology. Which was another whole problem to think of. Taking food from the Cephalonian table was a requirement for petitioners to be taken seriously. Allura was hanging on the hope that their thoughtfulness in such matters was still current and she would be offered a consultation on the menu before the dinner. If not, she might have to consider requesting it directly.

Speaking of which, she wasn’t sure either how Cephalonian food worked on Earthlings either.

By the time Allura turned around to find them, Hunk had already downed the fizzy drink in a huge gulp, Lance and Keith following suit at a slower pace. Nothing seemed to happen. Allura was about to come back to Havo-qui’s explanation of the Galra hub when a huge grumbling sound snapped her attention back to Hunk. It didn’t go beyond the biggest burp she had heard before, which also had the effect of making Lance and Keith leave their drinks to the side.

Cephalonians, on the other hand, seemed delighted and surrounded them in an instant. Hunk recovered rather quickly. Everything seemed fine until something Keith said prompted their audience into, basically, showing off their bottoms. The three Paladins looked away quickly or covered their faces in embarrassment but the display continued.

Allura felt herself colour as well and tried to get to them, running in her head every possible option to make them stop. She was intercepted by the Captain of their vessel instead. 

Apparently, permission had to be granted by her to show one of the Paladins the workings of the paddlers. Allura didn’t have to look too far to find Pidge almost vibrating with anticipation, completely sure about her consent. It seemed mostly protocol, as far as Allura could see… but she didn’t know what the correct answer was. Did the Captain actually wanted to show Pidge the workings of his ship? Did Cephalonians mixed with technology at all?

Allura ended up fumbling an acceptance when the Captain repeated the question, not sure if she’d managed to insult them. At least Pidge seemed happy, keeping her pace contained so as not to outrun the  _ really  _ slow Cephalonian.

With that literally out of the way, Allura went back to her mission of saving her Paladins from social blunder. She fund that the group had split off. Hunk was now having some hatchlings swinging on his arms and Keith had one climbing him up as a tree, which he clearly didn’t know what to do with. Lance, on the other hand was preening by telling weird stories to a group of what looked like teenagers.

There was no trace of Shiro.

Allura later discovered that he had constantly been surrounded by Cephalonians. Apparently rather handsy ones, without there seeming to be many differences regarding genders.

All right, helping Shiro first. He’ll be a good asset to round up the others.

By the time they arrived to port and were assigned their changing rooms, Allura was utterly exhausted.

__

As soon as Allura was left to her own devices, she let go of her transformation. With the protection of her thick skin gone, she was left vulnerable to the piercing cold and the gauzy material of her dress strangled against the taller form. Never before had sustaining a transformation had been so taxing on her.

No time for that either.

Time to assess the situation.

Allura closed her eyes again, standing stock still in the Altean position for meditation. Focus on the quintesence around you. Follow its patters.

Allura had gotten them here. She’d been able to gather information they needed. She knew what to expect in the dinner to come. Who to expect.

She knew what she wanted to tell.

She didn’t know  _ how _ .

All her training and studies seemed to hold no meaning anymore. The old patterns were broken.

She couldn’t go around praising the work of a king when there was eight more people around to hear and who might find her choices tasteless.

She couldn’t praise the peacefulness of the city without mentioning the Marcolemys as well… or ignoring the fact that she had been informed how deeply aggravated they were by not being able to provide Voltron with a proper gladiatorial spectacle.

She couldn’t go around enforcing the Galra’s misdeeds when she was sure she would be sharing the table with at least two hybrids. Not to mentionthe fact that the Galra had mostly stayed out of Cephalonian lives.

What to do? What to do?

“Castle of Lions here! What can I…? Is that you Princess? Is anything the matter?”

“Coran.” She said.

She hadn’t planned to make the call.

She didn’t WANT to make the call and she was hoping against hope that Coran hadn’t been able to read the hesitation in her voice.

Allura was the Princess of the lost Altea. She was a Paladin of Voltron. She needed to put her all to make work this makeshift team the Lions had chosen for themselves.

It was her that had gotten the team into their current mess and she will the one to get them out of it. She was strong and she was a leader. There was no space for hesitation when there was the Universe to save.

“I… am not sure I can do this.” She heard herself say.

And there it was, the  _ truth _ .

Betrayed by her own subconscious. At least it had only been in front of Coran. Time to apply some sort of damage control.

Except she again couldn’t come up with anything.

“As a matter of fact, I know you can.” Coran said. His face had softened and Allura wanted to feel angry at him for pitying her. Except she knew that that wasn’t the case.

Allura didn’t have her father. She didn’t have her mother. She didn’t have her people.

But she had Coran, and that made a universe of difference.

“I’ve seen you heal a dying Balmera on your own.” Coran continued, ignoring her inner voices. “I’ve seen you operate a teludav with the strength to transport a planet. And I’ve seen you do that without any hesitation.”

“Those were the only options available. I had to do them.”

“And.” Coran went on, twirling his moustache. “In light of that, you might be trying too hard on this occasion.”

Allura snapped at that. “Of course I am!”

“Ten thousand years have gone by. The universe is a different place now.”

“I know that.” Allura backed down again. She thought that she resisted the urge to hug herself. This was exactly what she had been refusing to acknowledge. At least directly but it had been more prominent on this mission.

“This is not a mission for the Princess of Altea.” Coran added, softly. “This is a mission for the Blue Paladin of Voltron. The one that has a whole team backing her up.”

It was there. What she needed was right there and Allura was about to grasp it.

“What happened with not having peace depending on a Giant Wapon?” Allura asked.

“I’m not talking about Voltron.” Coran said with patience, the fond look back on his face. “I’m talking about the Paladins. There’s six of them, you know!”

Alura smiled at that. Yes, she knew.

The weight of the Universe still resided on her shoulders. Allura didn’t have her father to guide her. She didn’t have her mother to support her. She didn’t have her people to defend. But she had Coran, and she had with her a great team.

It still needed some work but it was already shaping to be something amazing.

She was no longer only Allura, Princess of Altea. She was also Allura, Blue Paladin of Voltron and she was going to show to the Cephalonians what that meant.

Except that the idea still hadn’t formed into something concrete.

There was a knock on the door.

“Allura?” Lance. 

When she opened the door, the Red Paladin forcefully avoided looking at her. Probably having realized at a glance that her Cephalonian dress did little to cover her Altean form. He put a hand on the back of his head and fired a mile a dobash. “Look, I know you said that we needed to use the clothes they gave us and they’re really fine or something. But the thing is that it’s  cold . Like not Earth safe kind of cold. So we were wondering if we could, maybe wear them on top of the armour or something?”

Allaura wasn’t actually listening. She’d come to her answer.

Without much effort, she dragged the Red Palading by the arm to where the rest of the Paladins were waiting for his return.

“I think I have a better idea.”

__

It took some convincing. Allura have been really trough with her arguments and got them fired at her again and again. She hadn’t been fair to the Paladins since this mess started and it showed. That was why she refused Coran’s help when he offered to intercede in her favour.

_ This _ is what she needed to do alone. Give the Paladins the credit they deserved.

They could face the Cephalonians as a real team this time.

Bring ON the dinner.

__

From a Diplomatic point of view, the dinner was a mess.

There was no controlled discussion over such delicacies as fruit, mushrooms and algae. Instead, there was chaos.

The Cephalonians had all broken into groups and were moving around everywhere. Hatchlings and teenagers were brought in. A gladiator tournament was proposed and refused.

It seemed like nobody wanted to miss in the  _ fun _ .

Being mostly restricted to goo for more than enough quintants, Hunk kept to a ‘has to be dead’ rule with food. Everything else was game. The usually fastidious over preparation Cephalonians seemed thrilled by the way the Yellow Paladin kept mixing the simplest dishes together, making stuff that either disgusted or delighted them to try.

Lance kept the rapt attention of a different group over weird stories regarding electricity on the sky and places were the water was clear enough to be able to see every colourful creature on it with only the use of a visor. Something about people using tables to walk on waves. The Cephalonians were eating it all up, restricted to Marcolemies as the more interesting thing the marsh had to offer. Lance, however, seemed just as interested on the stories they had to share, and was pretty much prepared to accept their invitation to participate on their holding breath sport.

Keith was back to being used as a tree by hatchlings, who seemed to flock to him. This time, however, he was more into it and some sort of competition had started. Pidge was recording him. At least, in between of bouts of showing off the Olkari cube she had copied from Coran’s and going on about Space Caterpillars or tracking down some renowned Cephalonian engineer. She wouldn’t stay on one spot for more than a varga.

Shiro… had also gathered quite a group around him as well. It included both Galra hybrids Allura had been warned about. Shiro was trying to keep a conversation going but was constantly interrupted by a Cephalonian barely taller than a hatchling, which kept enthusiastically asking Shiro to participate in a fight as a gladiator. The Cephalonian was also ignored by the rest of the group as best as they could. They had gotten quite loud with time.

“I’ve never seen quite so much livelihood before.” Phrynops approached Allura where she was surveying the room. It was a diplomatic mess indeed, but it also seemed to be more effective than her previous fumbling to  _ stop  _ the Paladins before. “Our generations keep getting faster and faster with all this ships and space travel. It might the first time it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. Where did you get this Paladins of yours, Princess?”

Allura considered her answer, feeling even the protein scales go soft as well as the rest of her face.

“They found me, actually.” She answered. “And they brought me a lot of new stuff as well. Like molesting animals to get delicacies.”

Allura gave the room another look, pinpointing every Paladin proudly using their armour. She was doing the same, even in her Cephalonian form.

“I long for the time I get to see where they’re from as well.”

By the time they came back to the Castle of Lions, the safe passage had been granted to the Voltron Coalition. Cephalonians would also restrict the type of transporting the Galra could do, for the space of three Cephalonian generations.

Allura wasn’t worried about that.

Cephalonian generations didn’t last ten thousand years, but they were damn long all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of [VLD Tropes Fest](http://vldtropesfest.tumblr.com) | Comments and Kudos are appreciated | Anonymous creators will be revealed after the masterlist is posted!


End file.
